


Kaleidoscope

by TheLillie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Bed & Breakfast, End of the World, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Music, M/M, Pre-The Unknowing (The Magnus Archives), Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, and sadder, but at least he's not alone, tim has issues and i want to wipe away his tears but instead im going to make him angrier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26259055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLillie/pseuds/TheLillie
Summary: On the list of emotionally unhealthy decisions Tim had made in his life, a couple rounds of angrily-messily-pining you-and-me-at-the-end-of-the-world hatesex with his boss was probably in the top three. But it wasn’t like he expected to deal with any of the consequences. His emotions were running high and hot and tangled and they’d keep running higher and higher for the next twelve or so hours, and then they’d be in it, and then…It’d be over, one way or another.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	Kaleidoscope

**Author's Note:**

> carly rae jepsen - [favorite color](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gpGqGHEr_8)

It was probably somewhere around four in the morning when Tim gave up and rolled over. Jon was still facing the opposite wall, his spine curved concave to it. The moonlight ghosting through the thin curtains cast his scars into sharp relief, scattered white rivulets and their gray shadows peppered across his back. He was thinner than Tim had imagined before tonight; his shoulderblades moved starkly under his tired skin, sliding apart and rolling together with each deep breath. Fast asleep. 

On the list of emotionally unhealthy decisions Tim had made in his life, a couple rounds of angrily-messily-pining you-and-me-at-the-end-of-the-world hatesex with his boss was probably in the top three. But it wasn’t like he expected to deal with any of the consequences. His emotions were running high and hot and tangled and they’d keep running higher and higher for the next twelve or so hours, and then they’d be in it, and then…

It’d be over, one way or another.

Tim didn’t have to reach far to touch Jon’s back―their legs were still crisscrossed over each other under the sheets. With a mist-light fingertip he traced his shoulder, the curve of his neck. There were three corkscrew marks there, right where neck and shoulder met, arranged almost in a triangle. Tim weighted his touch. The scars aligned neatly under the pads of his fingers.

Jon twitched. Tim pulled back.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

Jon’s shoulder lifted up toward his ear, then dropped. “How long have you been awake?”

“Whole time.” Tim drew his hand back to his chest and self-consciously scratched at one of his own scars there. “You?”

“Hard to say. Drifting in and out.”

“I can go back to my bed.”

“That won’t help either of us sleep any better.”

“D’you have the time?”

“Dunno.”

That one felt like a lie. Of all the things Jon had the power to know nowadays, the time should be easy enough to just pull out of the air.

The other thing he said felt true, though. They weren’t going to sleep much tonight anyway, and despite everything, it felt good to have another body pressed against him right now. Another heart beating just as fast and scared as his, no need for words, another set of limbs and warmth and sweat. Probably anything was better than being alone.

Tim scooched his body forward until his ribs were flush up against Jon’s, shoulder tucked into shoulder. Quietly, hesitantly, he slid his arm around his waist.

“This okay?” he asked.

In response Jon found his hand and twined their fingers together. Tim slid his thumb down to hold their hands tighter, just catching the corner of Jon’s navel on the way.

It wasn’t affectionate. It wasn’t violent, and it wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t love. They trusted each other more than anyone else, and they owed each other more than they could ever quantify, and their lives had been so inextricably tied together―but they both knew they weren’t each other’s soulmates. Tim pressed his forehead to Jon’s crown and he’d kill him if he’s reading his mind but he was thinking so loud and so close he was sure he could hear it,  _ I hate you, I hate you, I can’t do this without you, you’re the only one left, you’re the only one here, you’re the only one. You’re the only one. It’s just me and you, but it’s just you. _

There were others. Other lives still living, for now, while everything centered in on this single point. Daisy and Basira were just across the hall, probably sleeping as far apart as they comfortably could, in denial; and at home Elias was probably watching, and Melanie was probably being murdery, and Martin was probably worrying, and Sasha was―

Gone.

So it was Jon and only Jon that Tim could cling to, as he lay quiet, his dark hair spilling around Tim’s neck.

“Still awake?”

“Mostly, I think,” Jon sighed, as if that meant anything.

Tim shifted a little, shaking the noose of Jon’s hair from his neck, wishing he could think of anything, anyone else. The person he finally landed on still hurt, but at least wasn’t Jon.

“What did Sasha look like?”

Jon didn’t answer for a few seconds.

“Tall,” he ultimately said. “Long hair. Glasses.”

“Do you know what color her eyes were?”

“No.”

“Course not.”

Jon shrank a little, curling into himself, his shoulder curving away from Tim and his spine arching into him. “I’m so sorry, Tim.”

“Don’t,” Tim snapped. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I am―”

“Don’t―” He huffed. “Don’t remind me you’ve got anything to be sorry for. Just let me have this til I fall asleep. Let me...let me pretend everything’s alright.”

He bowed and pressed his head to the back of Jon’s neck.

“Pretend for me,” he said. “Pretend you know what she looked like.”

Jon’s shoulderblades slid together, apart, together.

“Her eyes were...a light brown,” he said, almost in his statement-reading voice, “with little flecks and streaks of gold and green, almost hazel. They would look more gold or more hazel depending on the light or the angle you looked at her. They...they shifted, like a kaleidoscope.”

It sounded lovely, objectively, but it didn’t sound like her. But long hair and glasses didn’t sound like her, either, and that was the closest thing to fact Tim had.

He pictured them, each puzzle piece. Tall, though most people were tall compared to Melanie―no, she must have been. Taller than him, maybe. Long hair, probably black, maybe dark brown―no, maybe reddish? no, blonde?  _ No― _ he was going with his first instinct. Black hair. Square copper-rimmed glasses he’d stolen off her desk once as a joke and then forgotten to give back, right before everything went to hell. The baby blue blouse with the fluttery sleeves he’d gotten her for her last birthday. Kaleidoscope eyes.

Was this her? Was this stitch-up doll of assumptions and warped, coffee-stained memories what she looked like?

Her birthday had been after the worm attack. The real Sasha had never worn that baby blue blouse. It was the real her when he bought it―he remembered he saw it in a shop window, knew it was her favorite color, knew she’d look fantastic in it, knew he had to snatch it right then but wait for the perfect moment to give it to her. And when the day came two months later, the  _ thing _ unwrapped it and cooed and gushed, and the  _ thing _ put it on, and Tim grinned and knew it was perfect, knew it complemented her just as he’d thought.

Maybe at the end he’d know the truth. He didn’t think he believed in an afterlife, but if there was one, he’d have to see the real her there. If not, maybe he’d just have one moment of clarity in his final breath. Maybe when his life flashed before his eyes, it’d flash untainted.

“You know what the worst part is?” Tim murmured. Without waiting for a response, he kept on, “I don’t even think I could have given a good description of her before she got replaced. It’s like...God, there’s a stupid fucking Tumblr post. ‘Beauty is fake because when you love someone their features all blend together and to you they just look like…’ I don’t know, a bunch of heart emojis or something.”

Jon hummed. “Did Sasha look like heart emojis to you?”

“No way of knowing now, is there? I just―” He bit his tongue. “I just know I loved her.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Tim opened his eyes.

Lips pursed, he pushed himself up on one arm, and swung his leg up over Jon’s. Jon didn’t move as Tim crawled over to lie in front of him. Just watched him. But...not the creepy watching. Not invasively. Passively. Tim watched him back.

“What color are your eyes, Jon?”

Jon furrowed his brow, surprised. “They’re brown. Aren’t they?”

Tim shook his head. “They’re green.”

**Author's Note:**

> y'all: as jon becomes more powerful his physical form changes, ergo moth/monster boyfriend  
> me: as jon becomes more powerful his physical form changes, ergo Cool Neon Eye Color


End file.
